My Hero
by sss979
Summary: Vietnam. Face is conscripted for an unusual POW snatch.
1. Part 1

Title: My Hero

Author: sss979

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Mildly graphic (for real this time – mild! lol) wartime violence. Drug use.

AN: This is another one of those "Oh, look, it doesn't fit in the book!" pieces about Face. Kind of surprised by how long it is. Think I'm going to split it up into two parts. I didn't realize how long it was when I wrote it (which is what made it impossible to fit into the book in the end! lol) Enjoy!

"You okay, kid?"

Face looked up, took another drag from his cigarette, and blew smoke off to the side as he studied Hannibal. They'd moved from Duc Lap to "anywhere else" per General Westman's request. It had ended up being Nui Ba Den. Nobody knew exactly why there had been such a rush to move them, but Face suspected it had something to do with that same political bullshit that had left Locke shorthanded on the eve of what would've been a battle on his own turf. The VC would probably still attack the camp. But both they and the bandits would be licking their wounds for a good long while first.

"I'm fine," Face answered quietly. "What's up?"

"I could go for a drink. How about you?"

Face chuckled. "Where?" He gestured around him, reminding Hannibal of their surroundings.

"I got a bottle of vodka from Locke, before we left." Hannibal smirked. "Captain Jussen also said there's beer here, in the lounge."

Face considered it for a moment, then pushed himself up and away from the hootch he'd been leaning against. Hannibal turned, and he followed a half-step behind, across the camp to the lounge. This was not a large camp, and Face hadn't even bothered to venture into the lounge to see what – if anything – they had to drink. As with other camps anywhere in Vietnam, Kool-Aid was the drink of choice; it masked the taste of the water, was easy to ship from home, and was easy to make. He hadn't expected much more out of this place.

The inside of the lounge was homey. The floor was lined with mismatched strips of carpet and the soldiers had constructed a few pieces of furniture from scraps of metal and wood. There were also a few plastic folding tables, a few metal folding chairs, and a refrigerator in the corner. Face smirked as he saw the tally written on the front of it.

"I remember that."

"Remember what?" Hannibal was looking through the cabinets for cups, but he turned to glance at Face.

"The tally." Face pointed over his shoulder. "You were never at a camp that did that?"

"I've been with SOG from day one since I've been in 'Nam."

"Instead of paying every time you take a beer, you keep a tally on the front of the fridge," Face explained. "Accounts get settled once a week. Anyone who's not alive to pay their tab, everyone else picks it up for them."

"Nice system," Hannibal grinned as he sat down at the plastic table in the empty room.

Face sat down across from him. "Yeah, it worked well. Whenever a team was going outside the wire, they'd drink themselves stupid before they went. It sort of took the edge off. And helped the… grieving process afterwards."

"When were you in a camp?" Hannibal asked, pouring the clear liquor into two plastic cups.

Face raised a brow. "You read my history a long time ago."

"I did." Hannibal passed one of the cups across the table. "A long time ago."

As Face took his cup, Hannibal raised his own. There were no words to the toast, and no clink of glasses, just two plastic cups that touched before both men drank. "I was at Plei Me for part of my first tour," Face finally answered. "A-255. South of Pleiku in II Corps. Before SOG."

"How the hell did you come into that switch?"

Face hesitated. "I heard a rumor that they were more… offensive. And I was tired of being on defense."

"POW snatches, right?"

Face took another drink before offering a shrug. But he was eyeing Hannibal carefully. "I was good at it."

"You still hold the record."

Something about the way he'd said that confirmed that there was a purpose to this conversation beyond friendly small talk. "Where are you going with this?" he asked with a slight smirk. No point in dancing around it when they both knew the game they were playing.

Hannibal smiled back, and leaned forward on the table, swirling the remaining liquor in his cup. But the smile fell as his eyes lowered. "Tuyen Nhon was attacked the other night."

"Where is that?"

"IV Corps. East of Moc Hoa."

Face recognized the name of the B-team station, but still couldn't picture it on a map. He'd hardly even been to IV Corps – furthest south from the DMZ – except to the camps on the border of Cambodia.

"Did they take it?" Face asked, his brow furrowed.

"No." Hannibal took another drink, and studied the table for a moment before looking up again. "Right now, it's being held by a Mike Force. The camp is in bad shape."

Face nodded. "And judging by how we got into this conversation, they also took a few POWs."

"They hit during a visit from brass."

"Who'd they take?"

"Colonel Mel Rodman. And his daughter."

Face raised a brow. "He took his daughter with him to an A-camp? How old is she?"

"Fifteen."

Face rolled his eyes and looked away, mumbling under his breath. "Shit…"

"I told them we'd head out at first light."

Face finished the rest of the vodka in his cup. "How long have they had them?" he asked quietly.

"Since 0400 this morning."

Hannibal poured another drink. Face shook his head. "Unless we know where they're taking them, there's no way in hell." He looked back up and met Hannibal's eyes. "What's the colonel's security clearance?"

The look that answered him confirmed Face's fears. Hannibal didn't have to say a word. The colonel knew a lot. And with his daughter's pain to use as an instrument of torture, any man would crack after so long.

"Do they know where Charlie's operating from?"

"No. They haven't had any major problems with them since they established the camp. It was a puppet camp. Nice and shiny for the press and brass. No one was prepared for this."

"What are we supposed to do?" Face asked. "Canvas the whole jungle in pairs, looking for them?"

"That's for you to decide."

"Me?" Face was caught off guard. "Why me?"

"Because I want you to be One-Zero on this."

Face studied him, cautious and skeptical. Sure, Face's record reflected his experience with POW snatches. He was damn good at it, and he knew it. But he'd be good at it without assuming the lead. He'd learned well how to work within his own role – providing his advice and expertise on matters he knew about without usurping Hannibal. Their arrangement had worked remarkably well; why change it now?

"This isn't one of those stupid ass 'when I'm gone' things, is it?" he checked. "About how I'm going to have to fill your shoes?"

Hannibal shook his head and took another drink. "No, it's not that."

"Then why?"

"Because Mel is a close personal friend of mine," Hannibal answered quietly. "I know when to trust my own judgment and what I can't. And this is one I can't do."

Face studied him for a moment. Then, finally, he nodded. "Alright," he agreed. He lifted his glass in Hannibal's direction. "Then here's to old friends… and successful POW snatches."

Hannibal forced a smile as he raised his cup and touched it to Face's before finishing the rest of the liquor in it with several full gulps.

***

Murdock had passengers other than Face and Cruiser: three privates who'd begged a ride to Saigon. It didn't really matter what route they took from I Corps all the way to the southeast corner of the country; a stop in Saigon wasn't out of the way. They would probably pick up more passengers along the way, when they refueled. Hitching a ride on a chopper was the best – sometimes the only – way to get around. Most everyone had done it at some time or another and most pilots were sympathetic.

It was several hours of travel –with stops - before they finally touched down in the broken and battered LZ of Tuyen Nhon. Murdock whistled low as he looked around at the remains of the camp. More than half of the buildings lie in ruins. As the three of them climbed to the ground, they all took notice of a man in torn and bloody jungle fatigues who approached carrying an M-16 over his shoulder.

"Can I help you?" he called as he came close.

"Lieutenant Templeton Peck," Face greeted, shaking his hand. "This is Captain HM Murdock, Sergeant James Harrison. We're here on behalf of Hannibal Smith."

The man's eyes lit up instantly. "First Sergeant Josh Pollen, Mike Force. We've been expecting you."

"Who's in charge of this camp?" Face asked as Pollen shook hands with Murdock and Cruiser.

"That'd be Lieutenant Sam Gerrad," Pollen answered.

"Is he from the team that was stationed here?"

"No, sir, he's the ranking officer from the Mike Force."

"Where can I find him?"

"I'll take you."

Face walked briskly toward one of the standing buildings, keeping pace with the other man. "Anyone left from the A-Team?"

"A few CIDG –"

"Yards?"

"Yes, sir. Also a few civilians."

"What civilians?"

"Wives of three of the soldiers and two children, sir. Yards. Everyone else is dead. We couldn't get them out in time."

"No other Americans?"

"No, sir."

"What kind of shape are the Yards in?"

"Sir, nobody here has slept in 48 hours. Some of us longer."

"Take any volunteers to go on recon and tell them to go lay down for a few hours. I'll need at least two Yards who know this area and know it well to go lay down. Preferrably four or five. And I need another one to report to me right away."

"Yes, sir."

The building that they stepped into was not the TOC. It was a barracks. Half of it was being used as a medical center. Cruiser clapped Face's shoulder before heading off in the direction of the most seriously wounded. In the other direction, there were three men asleep, sitting against the wall with their weapons in hand. A fourth man was actually standing, but was just as much asleep as the others, leaning forward on his arm.

"Sam?"

No response. Pollen took a step further into the hot, stuffy room. It reeked of body odor and sickness. Face could almost smell the blood from every direction.

"Lieutenant!"

Face jumped, instantly and instinctively turning in Pollen's direction and snapping to attention. The man Pollen had actually been addressing did the same. As Face relaxed, Lieutenant Sam Gerrad looked around, confused and startled.

"Sam, Hannibal Smith's team is here," Pollen said, much more softly.

"Not all of us," Face corrected, stepping forward. He extended a hand. "I'm Lieutenant Templeton Peck, this is Captain HM Murdock." As they shook hands, Face used his other to point over his shoulder. "We brought Sergeant James Harrison to help with some of your wounded."

"Sam Gerrad." He looked like he was having a difficult time keeping his eyes focused.

"Please tell me some of your men are sleeping," Face said. "Everyone I've seen so far is really strung out."

"The shelling just stopped not more than an hour ago," Gerrad answered. "Most of us haven't slept since Wednesday morning."

"How many men are unwounded?"

Gerrad stared at him blankly. "Unwounded?" he repeated after a moment of silence. "I could probably count them on one hand."

That was exactly what Face had been afraid of. "I'm going to need to take a few of your men," he informed. "The Yards who know the territory, and any Americans you can spare who are good on the ground."

"Take them where?" Gerrad frowned. "Forgive me for sounding like a complete idiot but… why are you here, anyways? We got word you were coming, but I'm still not sure how you're planning on helping us here. We need manpower, not a recon team."

"Your manpower is on the way," Face assured. "I talked to General Westman this morning and he's arranging for another force to be sent from Nha Trang. They should get here in a few hours. In the meantime, I need you to let anyone with recon experience rest. Tell them to report here in three hours and have a few men get their supplies ready for them. I want them to be able to pick up and go."

Gerrad looked skeptical, but he was too tired to argue. He just nodded.

"Lieutenant Peck?"

The sound of his name made him turn. In the doorway stood a Vietnamese man, bleeding from a large cut on the side of his face and with his arm hanging limply at his side – clearly dislocated. His look was dazed, but his grip was firm on the M-16 in his other hand.

"i_Truong Si_ /iPollen tell me come to you."

Face stared at him blankly for a minute, then shook his head quickly to clear it. "I'll go fuel up the chopper," Murdock informed, heading for the door with his hands in his pockets.

"Cruiser!" Face called.

He didn't see him, but he heard him yell back. Face took a few steps forward and put a hand on the Yard's unhurt shoulder. "You're getting your arm set and then you're coming with me," he informed. Cruiser saw the problem the moment Face stepped into his line of sight, and Face pointed him out to the injured soldier.

"Cruiser, make it quick, huh?"

Ever calm and collected, Cruiser smiled back. "I'll do my best, Faceman. But it'd really help if you could get me some supplies before you take off."

"Make me a list and I'll put in some calls."

***

Murdock was flying so low, the skids were skimming the tops of the trees. "Over there, we find overnight camp once," the Yard informed Face, pointing to a spot on the side of a hill. "But they come no closer."

"Well, apparently they did," Face corrected. "They came a lot closer last night."

The Yard's sleep-slurred voice continued, monotone. "There a road somewhere over there," he pointed. "It covered over with trees."

"Murdock, take us over there."

Murdock keyed the mic and changed direction, following Face's guide. The Yard was scanning for familiar landmarks, cradling his injured arm against him. "It look very different from up here," he said, casting an apologetic look toward Face.

"It's alright." Face braced on the pilot's seat and leaned forward to look out the cockpit. "Murdock, we're looking for a canopy over a road."

"Roger, Faceman."

Murdock slowed, and Face scanned every inch of the ground below, the way the leaves swayed and which ones didn't move like the others and why. Out of the corner of his eye, Face could see the Yard trying his best to keep his eyes open, but he was swaying, unsteady. Face frowned, and crossed the floor of the Huey to where the man was sitting.

"Hey."

The Yard's eyes snapped open, and he looked around frantically before remembering where he was and how he'd gotten there. "Sorry, sorry."

"I just need you to hang in there for another hour or two. Can you do that?"

The man nodded, but the look in his eyes was anything but sure. Face studied him for a moment, the way his eyes rolled back even while he was saying that he could stay awake. After only a brief debate, Face reached into his pack and pulled out a bag of white powder. He pinched it between his fingers and grabbed the man's head with his other hand, tipping it back. The Yard's eyes opened and shut again.

"Just an hour or two, man," Face repeated. "Here. Take this."

Without waiting for a response, Face put his finger to the man's nose. As he inhaled, his eyes opened wide and he blinked a few times in surprise as he reached up and rubbed his nose. "What is that?"

"Medicine," Face answered smoothly, tucking the bag back into his pocket.

"Hey, Faceman, one o'clock."

Face moved away from the Yard to look again out the front of the chopper. It took him a moment to see it – the subtle difference in the way that the branches moved. Under the top few layers, they were tied together.

"How steady can you keep this chopper?"

"How steady do you need it?"

"I need to get down to the ground."

Murdock gave him a worried look. "You'd better make it quick. If they just left the camp two hours ago, they're probably still in the area."

Face clapped his shoulder, then ducked back into the cargo area, pulling off his helmet. In a matter of seconds, he'd attached a rope to the harness he wore, clasped the other end to the chopper, and dove out of the side of the helicopter, rappelling down into the trees. As soon as the branches could support his weight, he unlatched the harness and scaled down the tree.

The canopy was beautifully constructed, and it ran all the way along the road, twenty feet up in the air, majestic and yet ominous. Face didn't think he'd ever completely overcome the feelings of awe that came over him when he saw constructions like this. Human hands had done this – without machines, without anything that would qualify as a formal education by American standards. The ingenuity and hard work was something to be admired – even if it was the enemy's.

Face didn't need to reach the ground to see that the road had been recently travelled. He went down to the ground to check the blood that had dripped along the path. At least two different groups had passed through here; some of the blood was dried and some of it had fallen recently. As Face scanned the area, a glitter in the dirt caught his eye. Shouldering his rifle, he approached slowly, and knelt down. It was a silver ring. A mood ring, he realized as it changed color in his hand. He slipped it on his finger before turning back and heading back up the tree he'd scaled down.

Climbing back up was more difficult than coming down – particularly once he reached the rope. Holding his weight with his arms, he weaved through the branches until he was above the canopy, then pulled himself up the rest of the way. As he reached the cargo area, the Yard reached out to help him, pulling him into the chopper. Immediately, Face held up the ring.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked.

He shook his head, much more alert now than he'd been just fifteen minutes prior. But even so, Face could guess that there weren't many Vietnamese soldiers who wore a size 5 mood ring. Regaining his footing, Face picked up his helmet and leaned into the cockpit again. "Mark this spot, Murdock," he said into the headset attached to the helmet. "This is where I want you to drop us when we come back."

***

No one asked how they were supposed to get back. Armed to the teeth and with enough supplies for five days, Face, Boston, BA, and Hannibal rappelled into the trees. A second wave consisting of four Yards was finally followed by four Americans from the Mike Force. Once on the ground, they split to either side of the road – two groups of six, in the brush but watching the road for any more bread crumbs.

They moved quickly – three miles in as many hours, recovering another ring, two hoop earrings, and a several links of a man's wristwatch. They were running out of daylight by the time they came to a fork in the road. "Where do they go?" Face asked the Yard behind him quietly.

"I not know," the man answered with a deep frown. "This not here when we walk before."

Two quick snaps from Hannibal made Face turn abruptly. Even though he knew what to look for – and right where to look – it still took several moments of scanning to find Hannibal. Covered in camouflage and grease paint, he was difficult to spot in the quickly dimming light. Face looked in the direction that Hannibal's gun was aimed and saw the one thing out of place almost immediately.

Where there was one VC in the trees, there would be more. Hannibal had a clear shot, but the sound would alert any and all enemies within a half mile radius. With a quick gesture, Face vetoed the shot and communicated orders both across the street and behind him. As they started forward again, they moved slowly – an inch at a time. Charlie neither saw nor heard them as they slipped past.

Two more miles and six hours later, twigs were starting to crack beneath the careless feet of the overtired soldiers. It was pitch black – no moonlight penetrated the thick canopy all the way to the ground. Staying low to the ground, Hannibal led his five across the street one at a time until they were all together on the left side of the road. Crouched in the thick darkness, they spoke in hushed whispers.

"We should stop," BA said. "These guys are tired. And I don't blame 'em."

"Besides," one of the Mike Force soldiers hissed. "None of us know this territory well enough to travel it at night."

"We're blind out here," Cruiser agreed.

"So are they," Face pointed out.

"You want to walk on the road?" Hannibal inferred.

"That still don't solve the problem," BA reminded. "They too tired. They gettin' careless."

"He's right," Cruiser whispered. "Even I'm feeling it and I haven't been up half as long. You either need to let them sleep or wake them up, one of the two. And I don't think the caffeine pills are gonna help a whole hell of a lot at this point so you'd better have something stronger."

The silence lingered as Face considered that option. He didn't like it, but the alternative – making camp for the night and falling further behind their targets – seemed even worse. "Hannibal?" Face questioned.

"Your call, Lieutenant," Hannibal whispered back. "You already know what I'd do."

"We keep going," Face declared, reaching into his pocket for the little white bag. "We can't afford to let them get any further ahead if we're hoping to catch them before they get to a locked down camp."


	2. Part 2

They had about thirty minutes before dawn. The fog was thick between the trees, and the shadows were deep. But only for a short while longer. Sunrise in Vietnam was not like anywhere else Face had ever been. It was quick, and could catch a team off guard. If they weren't in and out before that sun came up, they would be operating in broad daylight.

Crouched in the brush at the edge of the camp, Face scanned the shadows. Only a few fires cast light over the sleeping soldiers – and the few who were on guard. It wasn't a small, team camp. Several of the men appeared wounded, but they carried no litters. The wounded must have been sent on ahead. Face frowned. If they were smart, they took the POWs on ahead, too.

"How are you guys holding up?" Face whispered to the Americans from the Mike Force who were crouched beside him. They hadn't slept in three days now, except for a brief nap while Face and his team had mapped their starting location.

"Fine right now," the man closest to him answered quietly. "But I ain't gonna be able to handle a lengthy run through the jungle."

"Here." Face handed over the bag with the rest of the white powder in it. "Don't overdose yourselves, huh?"

"Heh. That would kinda fuck up the plans, wouldn't it?"

"I'll circle around," Hannibal offered, pausing at Face's other side. "Try and see where they're keeping the Americans."

"Take BA and Num," Face ordered. "Don't engage unless you're seen."

Hannibal smirked. "I know how to play the game, Lieutenant."

Face couldn't help but smile at the irony. He clapped Hannibal's shoulder, just before he turned away and gestured for BA and one of the Yards to follow him. The bag – having made its rounds – came back to Face, and he considered it for a moment before opening and touching it. He licked the bitter white powder off of his finger, rubbing it into his gums. No telling what they'd come up against once the shit hit the fan. He'd need to be on full alert.

"Boston?"

"Yeah?"

He glanced both ways over his shoulder, looking through the dark to try and find the source of the answering voice. "Go with Ksor Hit and Rocker around the other side," he whispered. "We need to find out where they're keeping them, if they're even here."

"Gotcha."

"And make it quick. We've got less than thirty minutes before dawn."

Boston, one of the other Americans, and one of the Yards headed away without another word.

Face pressed down into the brush, flat on his stomach, and crawled closer to the camp to get a better look. If they had them, they weren't caged. Face wasn't sure he should be holding his breath on the idea that the Americans were in there. They'd followed a road; they could've had a truck pick them up and take them on ahead. If they'd made it up into the North, finding them would be nearly impossible. The only chance was that they were still here, now, or that they would be able to convince one of these soldiers to disclose a specific location where they i_could _/ibe found.

Face scanned for several minutes – how many of the men were awake, how many were asleep, how heavily armed they were. There were probably a hundred men out there. It was interesting to try and come up with reasons why they hadn't all simply called for trucks and moved on ahead. He backed up again, toward the rest of his team.

Rustling in the brush nearby caught everyone's attention, and a half-dozen guns were pointed in Hannibal's direction as he came close. Face lowered his weapon away immediately. "What'd you find?"

"They're here." No excitement, just a flat statement.

Face breathed a sigh of relief. "How many?"

"There's five. Bound, but not caged."

Face nodded. "Alright."

As Hannibal knelt down, Face sat up. The Mike Force soldier beside him sighed deeply, tiredly. "Okay. So what next, LT?"

The guards weren't expecting to actually have anything to do tonight – especially in the few dark hours before dawn. It took only seconds for Face and the four Mike Force to strike – soundless and clean, snapping their necks without so much as a strangled cry. As the Mike Force soldiers staged the bodies to look like they were still alive and well, Face and one of the Yards stripped two of the men and quickly slipped out of their own clothes.

Minutes later, dressed in NVA uniforms, they set their M-16s on the ground next to the lifeless bodies and grabbed two of the AKs as the Mike Force disappeared from sight. Face gathered pistols from the bodies and hid them on his belt, under his shirt. The bulges would be noticeable in the daylight, but it was still pitch black but for the few fires near the soldiers. Without a word, Face turned and walked confidently into the camp.

He looked casual, but in fact Face was as alert as he'd ever been in his life. Eyes scanning, he searched for any sign of the Americans. There were only shadows, none of them identifiable. Face sat down beside one of the trees in the clearing and put his head back, closing his eyes.

He waited nearly ten minutes before several quick rounds from an M-16 made the camp spring to life. Following the lead of all the soldiers around him, Face leapt to his feet. The camp was instantly in chaos. But one thing was clear from all directions: the Americans were nearby. They were under attack.

Face kept his head down and turned away from the firelight as he scanned his surroundings. It took several minutes to find them, bound and gagged in a heap, surrounded by frantic guards. A quick, sharp whistle went unnoticed by everyone but the one Vietnamese soldier that suddenly appeared at his side. Together, they ran to the guarded prisoners.

As they approached, the Yard yelled in Vietnamese. Face couldn't understand much, but apparently the slight nuances in his speech pattern went unnoticed. The soldiers all looked at each other, then half of them split off, toward the racket of firing assault rifles. With the guards cut down to half, the odds were much better.

Face didn't attack. He only gestured and out of the bushes behind the men, four dark, camouflaged shadows sprang out. With a spray of blood and a gurgling sound that could've been an attempt at a cry for help, the remaining guards fell at nearly the same time. Face turned his back on the scene, diverting the attention of the passing soldiers. Nobody even bothered to look in the direction of the bleeding guards as the Mike Force slipped back into the shadows.

Face took a few steps back. The sound of gunfire from both types of weapons echoed everywhere, but it wouldn't be long before the team would have to retreat. They would draw a good portion of the camp after them, but the others would come back. And they would quickly notice what had happened. Face had the element of surprise, but only as long as they were too startled to think about why they were getting attacked. Once conscious thought overrode survival instinct, they would be back in full force.

There were five prisoners, wide-eyed and terrified as Face – in an NVA uniform and with grease paint on his face – advanced quickly with a knife in his hand. A female voice shrieked. "Quiet!" Face hissed at her as he spun behind her and slit the ropes that bound her wrists. In seconds, he'd cut the ropes of the four men with her.

"You're an American?" one of the men asked.

"Yes," Face answered quickly. "Here." He shoved a pistol into the badly-beaten soldier's hands, and passed the rest of his weapons around to everyone but the girl. "Let's go."

They were no more than a hundred yards from the camp when Face realized they'd been split up. He didn't have time to react, hardly enough time to look back and see that the only thing behind him was the advancing VC. He stayed low, under the bullets that were flying in their direction, and kept running, pulling the girl behind him as he scanned for a place to hide.

The thicket was low enough to the ground and so thick that it didn't look like there would be a chance of fitting even one body inside, let alone two. It was exactly what he'd been searching for. He turned towards it, dropped and rolled onto his back, and used the barrel of his weapon to pry the vines up off the ground – just a few inches, enough to squeeze through.

The girl followed his lead, cramming into the little space and pressing hard up against him as he let the vines fall back down. Lying on his arm and half on top of his torso, she was breathing hard, staring out through the thin slits in the growth at the jungle above and all around them. The branches of whatever was behind him dug into Face's back and his legs were bent at an awkward angle. But he didn't move. The sound of her labored breathing seemed deafening in the enclosed space, and he turned his head a little to whisper into her ear.

"Don't make a sound."

Her breathing quieted and he noticed as he pulled her closer to him that she was trembling. He had to calm her down. Any sound, any movement, would attract attention to them. Their pursuers would be passing right over top of them. "Just relax," he breathed. "Close your eyes."

"I'm scared," she whimpered.

"Shh…" He held her tighter, slowing the pace of his words until the orders became an invitation – a tone that could almost qualify as a bedroom voice, soft and seductive. "It's okay to be scared. But right now, I need you to be very, very quiet…"

It worked. She relaxed just slightly, pressing back against him, and went nearly silent. "I'm going to get you home, safe and sound," he breathed right into her ear. His eyes were focused on the limited view he had of the jungle outside as he worked on making her feel like the two of them were the only two people in the world right now. "I just need you to trust me. Let me take care of you…"

The words coming out of his mouth were almost nonsensical in his mind, rehearsed a thousand times with a thousand women, all with a very different purpose than he had right now. But they were working. "Close your eyes, baby… Just close your eyes and let me take care of you…"

She remained still and calm as he watched the shadows shift in the dim morning light. He flexed his grip on his gun, fully aware that it was only a security blanket against the dozen soldiers walking right over top of them.

"Just listen to my voice. Listen to my voice and everything will be okay…"

She jumped as a yell from the soldiers above them echoed in the stillness.

"Shh… Calm down…"

Indistinguishable Vietnamese, and a few rounds of AK fire. What were they shooting at? They lingered for a few long, agonizing minutes, beating the bushes around them and finally, right on top of them. The brush was thick enough that the blows didn't hurt, but he knew it would take every trick he knew to keep her calm.

"Just ease down," he breathed softly. "Nice and slow. Everything's going to be just fine…"

As he whispered promises of safety too low for the soldiers above to hear, he held her still. She was trembling, but she didn't make a sound. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the soldiers moved on. Gradually, his whispers slowed, then stopped. Silence settled over them, and for a long time, it was quiet.

"Have they gone?" she finally whispered.

"They're gone," he answered quietly. "But we're going to stay here for a while until it's safe."

"How long?"

She wouldn't like the answer to that question. "A while. Are you thirsty?"

"Uh huh."

Relinquishing his hold on his gun, he twisted his arm behind him and grabbed a bottle of water from his pack, handing it to her. It took her a few seconds to figure out how to drink while lying on her side. There wasn't even an inch of space for her to raise her head. Finally, she passed the bottle back. He slipped it into his pack. He could still do without it, and they were going to need it later.

She was quiet, but her body shook with silent sobs as she lay still next to him. "You did good," he reassured her. "You did really good."

"I'm so scared…"

"I know. But you did really well." He paused for a moment. "What's your name?"

She paused for a long moment before answering. "Adrianne. What's yours?"

"Templeton. But you can call me Face."

***

"How long are we going to stay here?"

Face had avoided answering that question twice already. But it had been hours, and sooner or later, he was going to have to tell her. "Until tomorrow afternoon," he said quietly.

"Tomorrow?" her voice was weak, little more than a whimper.

"They'll look for us at least until nightfall," he explained. "But I suspect they'll break camp in the morning and move on. We can leave then."

She shifted as much as she could in the enclosed space, but there was barely room to turn her head, much less relieve the pressure points she was lying on. "Face?" She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

"Hmm?"

"I have to go to the bathroom," she whispered. "I don't think I can hold it 'til tomorrow."

"I know," he replied quietly, sympathetically. "It's okay."

That had also not been the answer she was hoping for. He heard her whimper, and she shook slightly as she sobbed. She'd been degraded and dehumanized for days now, and he was sure that this rescue wasn't what she'd had in mind. But he wasn't about to crawl out of this hole until he was sure that it was safe. Getting shot now, when he'd very nearly pulled this off, would be stupid.

"I wanna go home," she cried.

"I know," he sympathized. Leaving his gun resting along his side, he brought his arm up, scraping the sharp sticks and thorns along the way, and used his fingers to pull her hair back from her face. The strands were stuck to her cheeks with dried tears. He still hadn't had a good look at her face, and he couldn't see her now. He didn't try to as he stroked her hair gently.

"When we get back to base," he started quietly, "there's going to be a whole bunch of people waiting for us. And you're going to take a shower and eat a big meal… brush your teeth and your hair… and go someplace safe with a nice soft bed. And all of this will only be a memory."

She sniffled. "I don't think I even want the memory."

A faint smile crossed his face. "Ah, but that's the nice thing about memories. You can paint them however you want."

She was quiet for a moment before answering quietly. "What do you mean?"

He sighed softly. "I've been out here in the jungle a long time, Adrianne," he whispered. "So long, I hardly remember what it was like to sleep through the night without worrying what was going to happen while my eyes were closed. And I've had to do some things out here that I wish I'd never had to do. Things I don't ever want to tell anyone about. And when" – if – "I go home, those are the things I'm going to forget."

"How do you forget something like this?"

"Well…" He closed his eyes, his fingers still brushing over her matted hair. "The first thing you have to do is accept the fact that you did what you had to do. You forgive yourself for it. The bad things, the humiliating things… you let them go. You don't make it a part of you. And you just don't talk about it. You don't think about it."

"How can you not think about it?"

"You lie."

"Lie?"

"To anyone who tries to make you think that you could be so worthless as to be dragged off by an enemy and… degraded. Anyone including yourself."

She was quiet. Finally, he heard her sniffle again, turning her face against his arm to wipe the tears from her eyes on his sleeve. "Were you ever taken prisoner, Face?"

He hesitated, and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I was."

"Is it… normal to think how you don't want anyone to know? Don't want anyone to see you like this?"

A slight smile crept across his lips. "Normal, and healthy."

"Really?"

"Adrianne, nobody ever has to know about what happens out here if you don't want them to. It's part of that whole lying thing. You can tell them whatever you want to tell them. And the only people who would ever know you're lying would be the ones who know why you're lying. And I promise you… they'll never call you on it. Because they understand what it's like to do anything you have to in order to survive."

She shuddered as a few muted sobs escaped her. "I'm sorry," she breathed. "I'm so sorry. You're here because of me…"

"I'm here because of me," he corrected, letting his eyes slide closed as he rested his hand on her hair. "Because this is the life I chose, for better or worse." He paused, and slowly brought his hand back down to his gun. "And Adrianne?"

"What?"

"This part? Lying in the mud and waiting for hours, unable to move? I knew about this part before I came out here for you. And I still came. Because you're worth it."

She shuddered again, and turned her face into his arm as she cried.


	3. Part 3

Adrianne was struggling to keep up, but she hadn't complained yet. Face had a firm grip on her hand, and with his other he held his gun ready. It was a quick scan in any – every – direction as they ran through the jungle, stumbling every few steps over loose ground and unsure footing.

"Face wait." She was out of breath, dragging on his arm as she slowed. "Wait."

He slowed, and turned to glance back at her. "What's wrong?"

"Please." She doubled over, clutching her side with her free hand. "I can't run anymore. Please."

Another quick scan before he stopped, and turned back toward her, stepping closer. Releasing her hand, he grabbed her shoulder instead and pulled her up straight. Her eyes remained down as she gasped for breath. "If you stop here, you're dead," he said firmly, seriously.

She shook her head. "I don't want to stop. I just want to rest for a minute. Just a minute…"

He put a finger under her chin, tipping her head up. Her eyes met his reluctantly. "If you stop here, you're dead," he said again.

She studied him for a long moment with a pained expression. Then, finally, she nodded. He grabbed her hand again, took two steps, and stopped in his tracks. Something not right. Something had changed in the scenery behind him. He didn't know what; he didn't give himself time to figure it out. He trusted his instincts.

Without hesitation, he ducked down into the nearest foliage, dragging Adrianne with him. She almost fell on top of him, but he directed her behind him and she ended up sitting on the jungle floor. Eyes wide and full of fear, she didn't question him. And after only a quick glance at her, he turned his attention to his surroundings. That sixth sense was screaming at him. Something he could neither see nor hear. Something very real, but intangible.

He waited. Long minutes passed. Adrianne had clasped a hand over her mouth to quiet her breathing, but it gradually slowed and her hand gradually drifted to his arm. He left it there; she wasn't in his way. Yet. But as the threat came closer – close enough to make out the slow-moving silhouette of the NVA soldiers – he slowly withdrew his arm. He was going to need it.

There were two of them. Where there were two, there would be more. They were definitely hunting, and they sure as hell weren't out here alone. The rest of their unit was nearby. Whether looking for them, specifically – Face doubted that – or just following their own instincts, they were expecting to run into something.

Slowly, Face reached for the pistol on his thigh. If he was going to have to sit here anyways – lay low and wait for them to pass – he might as well do a little hunting of his own. Their position was well enough hidden, and based on the way he was walking, they were doing a sweep, not closing in. They were looking for something, but he didn't know where. They probably didn't even know what.

Face knew his abilities. He knew when the men were within range for his shot to hit its mark. He pressed down flat against the ground – moving slowly – and held his arm out in front of him. Looking straight over the barrel, he measured the shot carefully, let the guy come another step closer just to be sure, then fired. Once. The bullet went through his left eye, and his finger reflexively squeezed the trigger of his AK as he fell, sending a burst of fire into the air well over their heads. A second shot similarly hit the second man, who'd spun and started spraying bullets at the sound of the shot. He fell silent as he hit the dirt.

Adrianne gasped. He glanced at her quickly and saw her hand over her mouth, stifling the cry that nearly escaped. He looked back, scanned the area. If they were smart, they'd follow the sound of the shot and circle around to trap them. Given that he didn't know how many of them might show up, and that his vantage point wasn't i_that _/igreat, and that he did have Adrianne with him, he wasn't about to stay put and shoot it out. Hannibal would; no doubt about that. Then again, maybe not with a civilian. In any case, he didn't find risk quite so thrilling. And Adrianne was his first concern.

He shoved the pistol back into its holster and looked to Adrianne. "Back up," he whispered. "We've got to move back. Stay low."

She rose to a crouch and waited for his lead. He took it, tracking back over the path they'd just made through the overgrowth, ducked down. Twenty yards or so back, he stopped.

"Now what?" she breathed.

He flashed her a smile. "You about ready to start running again?"

She winced. "Not really."

"They'll converge in that area, but depending on how many there are, we may run into one or two of them. If that happens, you just keep running. Understand?"

She nodded, her expression worried.

"If we get split up," he whispered, "i_stop _/irunning and find a place to hide. Like that place we were in last night. I will find you. Do i_not _/ilook for me. Understand?"

Again, she nodded.

He extended a hand, palm up, and she hesitantly placed her fingers against his. She took a deep breath, pushed her shoulders back, and nodded. "Okay. I'm ready."

He turned and started slowly, heading east in a wide circle around the fallen NVA soldier. Before they'd gone fifty feet, they were walking faster. In another hundred, they were running again.

***

"Wait here."

Adrianne ducked down in the exact spot that Face pointed to. He could feel her eyes on him as he stripped off his shirt, dropping it on the ground. Given that it was an enemy uniform he was wearing, it was less likely he'd be shot on sight if he was shirtless. "If anything goes wrong, scream," he instructed her. "We're close enough to the camp that they should hear you."

She nodded mutely and he rose slowly to his feet, putting his hands above his head as he walked out into the clearing surrounding the camp. He knew they'd see him immediately, and called out just as soon as he was close enough for his voice to carry. "Don't shoot! I'm an American!"

He advanced slowly towards the gate. When he was within a hundred feet, the gate finally opened, and a dozen armed Yards rushed out to meet him. "American?" one of them called.

"Lieutenant Peck, Special Forces."

"Oh! iTruong Si/i!"

He let his arms lower as they shouldered their weapons and surrounded him. "Adrianne," he directed, pointing into the jungle. "She's over there."

Leaving him in the company of two of the soldiers, the rest went to find her. Face turned back and waved at her, signaling that it was safe, and she stepped out into the clearing. He waited, not moving into the camp until she caught up. She was unsteady on her feet, weak with hunger and covered in filth. But she gravitated toward him like the opposite end of a magnet, latching onto his arm.

They led the procession back through the gate just in time to see a fifty-something man in jungle fatigues emerge from one of the buildings. Hannibal was a step behind him. "Adrianne?"

The moment she saw the man, the light returned to her eyes and she found the strength from somewhere deep inside of her to run. "Daddy!"

Face let her go, stopping to watch as she collapsed into her father's arms, embracing him tightly. By the time the rest of the team stepped out of the building behind Hannibal, Adrianne's father was sobbing unashamedly. Her father held her, murmuring over and over again unintelligible words about his little girl. Too tired to smile – or to walk much further – Face stood still and let his eyes close for the first time in days. The realization that he was safe hit him with the force of a Mack truck, and his guard lowered all at once. He very nearly passed out right then and there.

"You look like shit, Face."

Cruiser's voice forced him to open his eyes, but he had no words. Hannibal was still near Adrianne and her father. The rest of the team had surrounded him.

"Yeah, you smell, too," Murdock observed.

"You okay, Face?" Surprisingly, BA was the one to show concern.

"Right as rain," he slurred back. "But if I don't find a place to sit down pretty quick, I'm gonna pass out on you."

***

Face stood at a distance as Adrianne and her father walked across the camp to the chopper. Funny that he'd spent so much time with her and yet this was the first opportunity he'd really had to study her face. She was fair skinned with long, dark hair that she'd pulled up behind her head in a ponytail. Dressed in fatigues and boots that looked just a little too big for her, she might've passed for a soldier with the way she carried herself, if she'd been a few years older.

She followed in step with her father, who was talking to Hannibal as they prepared to leave the camp. Too far away to hear what they were saying, Face could still hear her laugh as her father put an arm around her shoulders. Face smiled.

The small group paused a few yards away from the LZ, and Hannibal took a small step ahead of them. He exchanged a few words with Adrianne, then pointed in Face's direction. Leaning against the crumbled wall of what had once been the mess hall, Face dragged on his cigarette but didn't otherwise move as Adrianne turned to see him and made lingering eye contact.

She ducked away from her father and he let her go. Face put out his cigarette as she came closer, grinding it into the dirt underneath his boot. "Face?" she asked as she approached.

He answered her with a signature smile. "Adrianne."

She giggled quietly. "You clean up real nice."

"So do you."

She smiled, and lowered her eyes briefly as she stopped right in front of him. Face cast a quick look over her shoulder to where Hannibal and the other colonel were still talking, watching with relaxed smiles.

"I wanted to thank you," she said quietly. She looked up at him through her lashes. "You saved my life."

He smiled softly. "You're very welcome."

"It doesn't seem like enough, you know?" She lowered her eyes again. "Just a few words. But I'd probably be dead right now if not for you. Or worse…"

"It's enough," he assured her. "Ultimately, I do this for me. You just got to be a part of this chapter." He reached out and tipped her chin up, drawing her eyes to his again. "And I'm glad I got the opportunity to meet you. You'll make a good soldier someday."

Whether or not she had any intention of going into the military, it was the highest compliment he could've given to a colonel's daughter. She smiled, put her hands on his shoulders, and stood on her toes as she pressed her lips to his. Startled, it took him a moment to respond. He slid an arm around her as he returned the kiss, keeping his hand modestly high on her back as she deepened it, melting into his arms. He let her lead, returning the gentle caress of her tongue and lips until she finally, slowly pulled away.

When she finally opened her eyes to look up at him, she was smiling. He returned it. "I'll never forget you," she whispered, moving one hand to touch the side of his face. "My hero."

That line sound a lot less corny in real life than it ever did in the movies. With a smile, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Take care of yourself, Adrianne."

She nodded, and pulled away slowly. Halfway back to her father, she turned to look over her shoulder as she walked. He winked at her, and she giggled as she turned back and hurried to where the two colonels were standing.

At a distance of about fifty yards, too far to exchange words, Colonel Rodman turned fully toward Face as his daughter passed him and continued toward the chopper. Face stood still as the older man gave a formal, lingering salute. Face nodded his acknowledgment before returning it.

As the man turned and headed for the helicopter, Face heard a boot scuff behind him and turned to see Murdock approach. "Too bad she's only fifteen," he grinned, resting a hand on Face's shoulder and leaning on him. "I think you've got a fan for life."

"I'm just glad she's alive," Face answered, watching as they climbed into the chopper. "I really wasn't expecting to recover her in one piece. Much less virtually unharmed."

Hannibal backed away and seconds later, they were in the air. Face lit another cigarette as he approached and Murdock called out something about General Westman on the radio. Murdock left once he'd said his peace, but Hannibal came close, clapping Face's arm. "You did good, kid."

The smile that crossed Face's lips was cocky and self-assured, and he was not the least bit ashamed of it. "Yeah. I know."


End file.
